


Reveal

by celeste9



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laguna thinks about righting his mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reveal

_Drip._

_Drip._

It did not often rain in Esthar. Actually, that wasn’t true. In the forests it rained quite often, so to rephrase-- it did not often rain near the capital. Laguna supposed that was why no one had yet realized the ceiling in his office leaked. The downfall had been steady for an hour or so, and Laguna had noticed the intruding noise almost as soon as it had started. After all, the room was silent as a tomb and he had been bored enough to notice even the tiniest of disturbances.

_Drip._

For a while Laguna had done his best to ignore it. He planned on putting in a maintenance request, but there was no need to do it immediately; in fact it would have been silly to call in so small a problem immediately. He had stuck it out, continued rifling through memos, promotions, dismissals, appointments, but for ten minutes now he’d been simply staring at the growing puddle and listening to the patter of raindrops, his eyes crossing and his last coherent thought being the question of whether he should have maybe put a glass on the floor to catch the mess.

_Drip._

_Drip._

“Sir?”

Laguna’s elbow slipped on the desk and he swallowed a curse as he scrambled to try and appear as though he had actually been doing something and not merely vegetating in the straight-backed unforgiving office chair he despised. In his haste, however, all he succeeded in doing was knocking over the small container of pens and pushing a stack of papers off the desk. A letter from the Galbadian government drifted lazily to land in the puddle on the floor.

Sighing, Laguna slumped back down (as well as he could, anyway) and turned his gaze to the young official in the doorway. “Yeah?”

The man’s eyes darted from Laguna to the mess on the floor and back to Laguna again. He cleared his throat. “Sir, Ms. Ellone wanted to know whether you’d be joining her for dinner.”

“What? Oh, yeah!” Laguna slapped a hand to his forehead. He’d completely forgotten he’d promised Elle they’d have dinner together tonight. “Is she here?”

“Yes, she’s waiting in the lobby, sir.”

“Tell her to come on in.”

The man bowed slightly. “Of course, sir. And Mr. Seagill would like to know whether you’ve looked over the memo from Trabia Garden? The request for meeting after they finalize reconstruction?”

Laguna waved his hand dismissively. They’d meet for show, but Esthar ran things on its own, and even if they’d come out into the open more since the last war, Esthar and Trabia would have minimal dealings in the future and both countries (well, country and Garden) knew it. Hell, even Laguna could figure _that_ out, and he didn’t have much of a head for politics or bureaucracy. “I had a glance. Dunno what Kiros is so worked up over; it’s not that big a deal. I gave it to Nick to handle.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll let him know.” The official was smirking slightly as he left. Laguna frowned. Who cared if he let Nick-- his assistant-- do a little more than maybe most presidents would? He wasn’t stupid-- he was ill-fitted for this position in peace time and knew it. Nick ran things a lot more smoothly than Laguna could’ve ever hoped to by himself. In fact, without Nick, Laguna was sure he would have been shoved out of office a long time ago. On second thought, maybe he should send Nick to another division…

_Drip._

“Damn,” Laguna muttered. He’d nearly forgotten about the leak. Stretching his arms over his head, he stood up to get the stuff he’d knocked on the floor. Gingerly picking up a corner of the Galbadian document, he pursed his lips. The thick paper was soaked through and the ink had smudged. He squinted at the lettering, trying to make it out.

“Uncle Laguna?”

Face splitting into a grin, Laguna spun around to face the door. “Elle!” He dropped the sodden document unceremoniously onto the pile on his desk and swooped up the diminutive woman in a tight hug.

Laughing, she pulled away. “Honestly, Uncle Laguna, I just saw you yesterday. You act as though it’s been ages.”

Pouting a little, he said, “Aw, can’t I be happy to see my best girl?”

Ellone smiled again, revealing even white teeth. “You forgot about dinner, didn’t you?”

He put an arm about her waist and gently led her out of the office and down the hall. “Of course not,” he sniffed. “Have I ever done a thing like that?”

She squeezed his side indulgently. “No, never, Uncle Laguna. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s all right, Elle. I suppose I can forgive you, just this once.” As they passed an official in long robes, Laguna paused and gestured behind him to the room they’d just left. “Hey, d’ya mind letting the maintenance guys know there’s a leak in my office?”

The woman nodded. “Not a problem, sir. I’ll let them know right away.”

Laguna patted her on the shoulder and resumed walking. “Thanks.” He said to Ellone, “Amazing how fast they get things done around here. Refreshing, you know?”

“Esthar’s a well-run country,” she agreed. “But you ought to give some of the credit to yourself, shouldn’t you?”

“Nah,” he waved her off. “Not really. I’m sure they could function just fine without me. But hey, enough boring talk. What’s new with you?”

“Since yesterday morning?” Ellone asked, a hint of a laugh in her voice. “My life’s not _that_ exciting, I’m sorry to say. But I did meet Julian last night, with some of our friends.”

“Your boyfriend?” Laguna’s green eyes twinkled. “Have any fun?”

Ellone punched him in the side lightly. “Uncle Laguna! That’s none of your business!”

He chuckled. “Hey, I never said anything! It’s you who’s jumping to conclusions. My, what a dirty mind, Miss Elle!”

They talked amiably on the short walk from the presidential palace to a small café in the city. It was quaint, but bustling, though Laguna and Ellone were served quite quickly. Being president did have its advantages, now and then.

Halfway through the bottle of wine, Ellone asked what Laguna had known she’d been going to ask since they’d first made dinner plans. Actually, it had taken her a bit longer to get around to it than he’d expected.

She was playing with her napkin, twisting her fingers in it and bunching it in front of her. Laguna reached his hand across the table and stayed her hand. “Elle, stop it. Just ask, already. You’re making _me_ nervous with all your fidgeting.”

Ellone let out a breathless giggle and raised her eyes to her uncle’s. “Sorry. It’s… Don’t know how to start, I suppose.”

“Just start talking. Works for me.”

Her laugh was more genuine this time, and Laguna would’ve been embarrassed that she was laughing at his less-than-stellar oratorical skills, if he was the kind of person who got embarrassed for that sort of thing. Luckily he wasn’t.

“Uncle Laguna, have you talked to Squall recently?”

And there it was. “A couple weeks ago we talked about sending SeeD--”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Ellone was using her sharp tone of voice. She didn’t use it often but when she did, Laguna knew she meant business. He quailed.

“Aw, geez, Elle, he doesn’t want to hear from me--”

“How would you know that? Has he told you that? And even if he did, I think there’s something you could say to change his mind, don’t you?”

Laguna drummed his fingers on the table. “Elle, I can’t. It’s been too long.”

Now it was Ellone who reached across the table, her touch gentle but firm on Laguna’s wrist. “You’re right. It’s been far too long. But every day that goes by and you don’t talk to him? It’s only getting longer.”

Unable to stand the piercing pressure from her doe brown eyes on his or what felt like a pressing weight from her slim hand on his wrist, Laguna pulled his arm away and turned aside, under pretense of ordering another bottle of wine. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t have this conversation. He’d thought he’d be ready, thought he could handle it, thought he’d be prepared. Obviously he had been wrong. All he could think about was how he’d abandoned his son all those years ago, as good as left him to rot in an orphanage, and all the reasons and excuses he had didn’t matter one bit. They wouldn’t matter to Squall.

“Uncle.”

Squall was sullen and brooding and reserved. He was nothing like his mother, and he was nothing like his father. Laguna had entertained briefly the idea of telling Squall he was his father when they were on the Ragnarok going to defeat the sorceress, but when met with those ice blue eyes his mouth had dried out and anything he’d thought to say was lost. Squall had turned out fine without Laguna. He was Balamb Garden’s Commander, and doing a much better job of it than Laguna ever had as Esthar’s president. That ease in control he must’ve inherited from Raine, who’d had the whole town of Winhill eating out of her hand with a simple look and smile. So maybe he was something like his mother, at least. Laguna didn’t know if that made it easier or harder. Both, maybe, and the fact that that made perfect sense to him didn’t say much for his sanity.

“Uncle Laguna!”

“Yes!” He jerked back towards her, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“What are you thinking?” Elle’s voice was soft and soothing, lyrical, almost like Julia’s. Raine’s had been slightly deeper, always commanding attention, radiating calm. Squall sounded like his mother.

The words left his mouth in an exhale of breath, rushed and quiet and almost lost in the exchange. “I can’t do this,” he said, and couldn’t bear to meet Ellone’s answering smile of reassurance.

“Yes,” she said. “You can. You have to.” And in her voice he could hear Raine for a moment, and closed his eyes. Watched her move behind the counter, grace in her step and in her bearing, bringing culture even to a low-paying job in a dim tavern in a country town. Sensed her walking around the corner towards him, the scent of fresh flowers always traveling before her. Slipped his arm around her slender waist, pulling her flush against him because he could never get her close enough.

“Squall needs you to do this,” came Ellone’s voice, pulling him back into the present. “You weren’t there when he needed you before, but you can be now. It’s not too late-- not yet. But it will be.”

Laguna tightened his grip on the stem of his glass, tilting it and swirling the contents about, admiring the color. He didn’t know anything really about wine, but the hues of red and purple looked pretty, at least. “I’m not brave, Elle.”

“Yes, you are. You always have been.”

“Not like this.”

Ellone smiled at him, the kind of smile that tries to be heartening and on her, actually was. “You can’t know that, Uncle Laguna. Not until you try, and you owe it to Squall to try.”

“He’ll hate me,” Laguna said, sounding alarmingly close to a whimper.

Ellone’s answering smile would have lit up the darkest night, or so Laguna thought, seeing her. “No one could hate you, Uncle.”

The twitch of his own lips seemed woefully lacking in comparison, but it was all he could muster. He could only hope Elle was right.

* * *

  
It was a simple matter for the President of Esthar to charter a private flight to Balamb. What required slightly more difficulty was keeping the trip a secret from Garden’s Commander. In the end, Laguna had the plane land outside the city of Balamb itself, from which he set out to walk to Garden, stationary for the moment. It was early evening, the sun’s last rays fading over the ocean. Attempting to put off his duty for as long as possible (he knew he could be childish like that, and didn’t much care), Laguna shrugged off his shoes and dangled them by the laces as he scuffed his feet through the still sun-warmed white sand on the edge of the beach. He wondered if Squall had ever done so, as a boy, growing up in Garden. He allowed himself a tiny quirk of the lips-- no, probably not. Squall had most likely sat in the grass, scowling at the other children laughing and splashing in the surf, building sand castles. Little solemn Squall, ever so mature. 

Laguna thought that he loved Squall. But he also wondered if he could say that, say that he loved someone he didn’t really know? He didn’t know who Squall actually was, had no true memories of the boy he’d been. The boy he must have been, the boy that still lived somewhere behind the straight back and the black leather and the stern face. The mercenary couldn’t have killed that boy completely.

Though, if the boy was lost forever, it was only Laguna’s fault, wasn’t it?

There were so many things Squall could blame him for, hate him for, that could stop their relationship ever starting. How could he explain that decision all those years ago, make Squall see it had nearly killed him? Because it had. He’d loved his son, the tiny plump-fingered, rosy-cheeked bundle he’d been. Hyne, he’d loved him. Loved that he was gonna look just like Raine, loved all the things he had to teach him, loved the delighted gurgling that passed as talking.

He’d never meant to end up as such a failure of a father.

He’d never meant to let down Squall so thoroughly, or Raine.

Sometimes he wondered how things had turned out the way they did. Or why. How he’d made such a terrible decision about Squall when he’d only wanted the best for his son. Everything from the fact he’d ended up at Winhill to loving Raine to losing Squall to being the President of Esthar. Little quirks of circumstance and fate, paths twisting and crossing till somehow he’d come to here, this very moment. This moment that could change everything.

And it would. Once he entered Garden, once he found Squall, once he said the words there would be no turning back. There was every chance in the world Squall would slam the door in his face, would never speak to him again (as if they even spoke as it was). Laguna couldn’t help but wonder if it would be worth it. What was the good in trying to change things when they could turn out so much worse?

But maybe… well, really, would they be so much worse? As it stood, Laguna hardly spoke to his son and when they did, it was purely political. Squall hated his father for abandoning him. The worst that could happen was that Squall could put a face to his hatred. And the best that could happen… Laguna could imagine an awful lot.

_He could imagine a little boy with chocolate brown strands of hair falling in his face running in the lane. Tears streaking through the dirt on his face with blood on his knees. A beautiful woman with a flushed and smiling face, watching her son play in the yard. Holding him between them in the bed, with no sound but soft rhythmical breathing._

Laguna had missed so much, he didn’t know that he could even call himself Squall’s father with any true conviction-- and he knew that was how Squall himself would feel. Maybe some boys-- young men-- would be happy just to find their fathers, to know they weren’t orphans, not really, but Squall wasn’t like that. He was stubborn, like Raine, and slow to forgive (and he’d never forget).

_He could imagine, too, sitting across the table from a young man with the same chocolate brown hair that never seemed to stay in place. Grinning when he could see the lips upturn in the hint of a smile, or when the blue-gray eyes couldn’t hide the laughter dancing in their depths. Not being ashamed of the tears dripping down his chin while he watched his son slip a gold band around the finger of the woman he loved._

And because he could still see that, and because that, at least, could still be real, Laguna plopped down in the sand and put his shoes back on.

He still had a long walk ahead of him before the stars came out.


End file.
